Good choice of song
A couple of years ago I attended the funeral of my great aunt. Even though she was ill, and was in hospital, she died unexpectedly- so without having the opportunity to plan her own funeral, as many people do in these circumstances.

So it fell to her son to choose the music that would be played at the crematorium.

Aunty Sheila loved Vera Lynn apparently, so as we sat in silence waiting for the coffin to trundle off through the curtains 'We'll meet again' started playing. Cue tears- it's quite a moving song for a funeral.

However, what started playing as the coffin started moving?

'Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye'. Cue many smiles and chuckles. Classic.
(clapper, Fri 12 May 2006, 12:51, Reply)

My grandmother was a big lady
nice, but big. Eventually that saw to her heart giving out on her.

We're at the funeral, all feeling solemn as the coffin is brought out of the hearse and is lifted by the pall-bearers. Despite the sadness, I later found that many of us were also thinking the same thing: 'rather them than me!'
( Matazone has new icons, but is keeping this one, Fri 12 May 2006, 12:49, Reply)

My Dad died eight weeks ago at age 59...
...and it wasn't fun. In any way. At any time. At all.

Sorry to disappoint, but there it is. At least you know now why I've been such a whingeing git recently :)
(thatblokeoverthere not quite as much an arsehole as I thought, Fri 12 May 2006, 12:26, Reply)

These will be the best funerals ever!
Now most funerals are sombre, boring affairs, with people crying etc. But two people I know are going to have the funniest funerals I think I will ever attend.

My Dad, who isn't anywhere near dying yet thankfully, used to be a very good ceramics teacher and artist. He hasn't done any for a while, but has a big collection of some hilarious statues and pots. We have a 3ft high Spitting Image-style statue of Maggie Thatcher flicking the V-sign in our garden, by the way. So Dad's slightly twisted sense of humour reached a new level of hilarity when one day he came back from work with a large box with something heavy in it. "Ok, everyone come here, I want to talk about my funeral". We just take it in our stride whilst eating our dinner, but Dad announces that when he's gone he wants to be buried with what he has in the box. Out he pulls a cast of his right arm, fashioned into a 'Night of the Living Dead' pose. "And I've painted it with a glow-in-the-dark glaze as well, so I need it to be sticking out of the ground up to the elbow". Genius.

My current housemate has also expressed that his funeral should be a celebration of his life. So he's asked us to make sure that no-one is attending the ceremony unless they've got a pint in their hand, and as an avid sports fan, he's asked that as his coffin slides away to be cremated, that the Grandstand theme tune is played. The full version with the guitar solo.
(A Good Egg, Fri 12 May 2006, 12:10, Reply)

Hero in service
Friend died of a drug overdose. 'Cos he died overseas, we'd managed to hush it up from his family, got it down as heart failiure. Didn't want to make it any harder on them than it already was.

They arranged the service.

Song they played in the middle of the service:
The Stranglers : "Golden Brown"

Song they chose to play us out of the church with:
Guns 'N' Roses: "Mr Brownstone"
(speedbunny, Fri 12 May 2006, 11:59, Reply)

Ex-girlfirend's dad
I was dragged along to my then girlfriend's dad's funeral. It was a particularly sombre affair, but he had stipulated that he be sent into the flames to the sound of the Tom Lehrer song, "Poisoning pigeons in the park".

Everyone else seemed to find this very upsetting, as it reminded them what a fun guy he was. I hardly knew him, so I started giggling, then howling with laughter and had to be escorted out.

It was made all the worse because I had already decided to dump said girl, but thought the timing was a bit off. How polite.

PS I must stop reading these posts, as I'm in the library, and can't stop laughing. Most distracting for everyone else.
(Rotten_Cointreau is a proper scientician, Fri 12 May 2006, 11:58, Reply)

Ireland
My Grandfather on my Dads side of the family was Irish. Over there they celebrate all the things the person has achieved and its a really nice experience at the wake.
( SiX and his hat, Fri 12 May 2006, 11:52, Reply)

My Sisters ex husbands long long trip to the after life….
My sisters ex died suddenly of an excess of gravity (twat fell into a hold on a ship pissed while shouting abuse at a deck hand working for him). Now my sister and him hated each others guts but for the sake of the kid she did the right thing with the inlaws at the funeral, she was greatly surprised to be handed the casket a while later as they were sure she would know what he would have wanted done with it as he had left no specific instructions.

So being the woman scorned she did the following, (please note he hated all the following places and services with a vengeance).

1 Dropped his ashes in several Micky D, Little Chief fine food establishments.
2 Places small amount in envelopes and sent them to non existent address around the world with no return address( he hated the post office for some reason!)
3 Mixed with bread and feed to seagulls, he hated these and their plop (shame as he is part plop now)…
4 She asked me to deposited some in urinals so he could be pissed on by strangers. ( I obliged her by doing this in several establishments including the George in Dublin (very pink establishment) as he was a skank homophobe as well…
5 He wanted to be laid to rest at sea being a jolly jack tar, We feed some to his remains to his dogs so he could be shit out a dogs ass. then flushing same, so he could take the long journey to the sea via the sewers in a dog doo raft (not quite the Styx , I should have jammed a few coins in the log for Charon)..
6 The rest of his ashes are still in my sisters bedroom so he can witness her not faking an orgasm…

As to the rest of his worldly remains, any sadistic and sickening suggestions are more than welcome….

Length? well Mrs Rubbersheep never moans, still maybe if I ever manage to wake her up she might…
(SheepInRubberPantsTurnMeOn, Fri 12 May 2006, 11:36, Reply)

I'm planning to wear my cat as jewellery

But I couldn't be bothered waiting for him to die, so I just wear him around as a hat.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Fri 12 May 2006, 11:36, Reply)

Mafioso
When my grandmother died, I was going thru the whole long hair and big beard phase, but I turned up to the big irish funeral and did my bit.

At the gathering afterwards, my dad was talking to some random local guy who said to him.

"Did you see that huge fella with the pony tail, beard and dark glasses? Christ! I never knew that the old girl had connections in the Mafia!"

to which my dad replied... "err, yeah, thats my boy"

Que one hasty exit
(smirker neverletmetellyabouttheraggamuffinbiznessandting!, Fri 12 May 2006, 11:20, Reply)

'Grave goods'
Someone I know used to work in a council canteen used by cemetery workers. She knows lots of hairy stories.

One concerns a cremation in which, on raking the ashes out, the crematorium worker found a lump of rough metal.

They often find hip joints etc but this didn't resemble anything like that so they contacted the undertaker and asked him to make discreet enquiries.

Turns out that the deceased, a manual labourer, had been thoughtfully provided with a sledghammer by his kindly relations, in case he woke up and needed to smash his way out.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Fri 12 May 2006, 11:08, Reply)

turning people's ashes into diamonds.

Here's one website that does it - www.lifegem.com . Although they appear to only operate in the US, it does prove it's a real thing.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Fri 12 May 2006, 11:04, Reply)

Grandad
A bit heavy but do persevere with it...!

Just last month my Grandfather died suddenly after suffering a massive stroke. He was in his 80's and had lived a good life, had travelled etc...

At his funeral, my Grandmother requested that the priest read out my Grandfather's favourite poem, Excelsior by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Now he was very particular about the way it should be recited, and after hearing it numerous times over the last 20 odd years off him, I kind of realised there is a bit of a knack to telling it.

The priest rattled through it the best way he could, like someone at an amateur dramatic society, his face contorting and so on... When he finished, he said "I'm sure Alan would have enjoyed that..."

After the service, my Grandmother turned to my Mum and whispered:

"I'm glad your Grandad couldn't hear that, he would have thought it was ruddy awful"
(Fatty Thornton, Fri 12 May 2006, 10:53, Reply)

.
I went to a cremation and a wake last summer.

At the wake, a small group of mourners realised at the same time as the father of the lad who died, that he had no idea who they were, and they had no idea who the chap who died was.

it transpired they got lost leaving the cremotorium after the service of thier own acquaintance, and followed the wrong line of cars to the wrong wake.

it hadnt dawned on them that they knew none of the people at the wake... and the book of condolences they wrote in was for a totally different dearly departed to the one they were supposed to be seeing off.

they were asked to leave.

*edit - i have been informed since posting this missive, that - in the nicest possible way - the wakecrashers were of african extraction and, in the words of the future mrs magictorch, whos friends life was being celebrated, that "it was just unfourtunate! Nick apparently had no black friends and they did write 'to their uncle'. so they must have been related."

and quite possibly blind*
(magictorch, Fri 12 May 2006, 10:52, Reply)

Freudian slip or just taking the piss?
After a long illness, my gran died a couple of years after my grandad.

At the funeral the vicar said that at the grave she and her husband would be "urinated". I hope he meant to say "reunited", but then again she had just died of bladder cancer....
(lolwhites, Fri 12 May 2006, 10:45, Reply)

Have a lovely breakfast on me lads!!
This has not happened yet (obviously as I am still alive, Fudge Nuggets) When I pop my clogs I have arranged with my wife (who is as funny as fluck, and as evil as I am!) assisted by my good fried who is a butcher, to have either my body (if he keeps his nerve) or if not, then my low calorie dust turned into fine porky sausages! Good idea you say, waist not want not and tree hugging recycling hippies rule etc… Alas no, that’s not the reason at all….
I worked for five years in Sunny (bloody gloomy and wet) Dublin, The chaps I worked with were excellent fellows who pride themselves on their sense of humor (as long as its at an Englishman’s expense)….
So the plan is to make me into lovely plump sausages and have them ceremoniously delivered to my good friends as my last wish that they try so good old English bangers as theirs are rubbish grey tubes of ears, noses, plop, sawdust etc.
After they have tucked in they will be informed by me via a pre recorded video of what they have just eaten, Also that they are now bloody English as well as cannibals… Laugh that one off bog hoppers!!!!

I would apologize for the length but I’m unsure myself as my ruler has not got millimeters on it….
(SheepInRubberPantsTurnMeOn, Fri 12 May 2006, 10:41, Reply)

Totally and utterly true.
When myself and Mr Wow cop it and go to the great gig in the sky, we're both being buried, side by side.Both of us are to be buried with:

A hand-and-a-half sword (basically a big bastard sword that I used to use in battle re-enactment)

A crown

A laptop

A spade

A quill and parchment

Coins on our eyes

Some phylacteries (little boxes with part of the Torah in them, as far as I'm aware. I'm technically a big Jew, but I know naff all about it)

a Bible

The Qu'ran

Money (I want deutschemarks, francs, schillings, kroner, pounds and dollars)edit- I know it's all Euros now. That's the point, smartarses.

Some loo roll.


The reasoning behind this is that we want to fuck up the futuristic time team that digs us up and wants to date us. Of course they could carbon date us, but we'll all know they're cheating.

And I'm being buried in pyjamas. I want to be comfy.

No point apologising for length- it's mostly just space. If it'd been full of writing I might've, but it's not, so I won't. Arr.
( Captain Wow currently being a cunt in Infamous, Fri 12 May 2006, 10:40, Reply)

For Downill without brakes and Perry Como's Mom
The diamond will only be the same quality as industrial diamonds.

Not the sort you'd want on jewellery, except for sentimental reasons.
(GoldenNinjaWarrior doesn't want to, but the voices made him...., Fri 12 May 2006, 10:34, Reply)

For Downill without brakes
Hi

The process of producing a diamond (not what it's called, but is in the same theory) is possible. They use the carbon from the cremated remains to produce a gem, which can be used as a normal gem in jewellery etc.
( Mart No Fool No posts but lots of stalks recently., Fri 12 May 2006, 10:27, Reply)

Revenge
Everybody in my family hates each other, and they tend to wreak revenge upon their kin by making sure that funerals are as shit as possible.

Think about it - the ultimate test of how popular and loved a person is is how many people attend their funeral, and how the service reflects what sort of person they were. My mother in particular is a dab hand at making sure a person's funeral is the exact opposite of what they would have wanted, and not telling anyone about it so that nobody turns up.

She's organised orthodox Jewish services for atheists, shit music (slow movement of Mahler 5 played on the hammond organ, anyone?), made sure nobody is allowed to get up and make any speeches about how great the person was or anything, and not invited anyone on the premise that "we don't want any fuss".

Last year, a girl in my office died and over 1,000 people attended the funeral. I suddenly realised that if I were to kick the bucket tomorrow, I'd be lucky to have ten people at mine. Therefore I have handed the responsibility for organising my funeral over to my best friend, who actually loves me. This is what I want:

* Thousands of people. Pay them if necessary.

* Forget all that shit about people not being sad when you're gone. I want them all to be bloody miserable.

* Having said that, a funeral should be a celebration of one's life and there should be lots of speeches about how great I was.

* Loads of great music, probably an eclectic mix of highbrow classical and cheesy upbeat rock. Definitely no hymns - can't be doing with congregations mumbling Anglican durge.

* Everybody will have to dress up in bright colours...except attractive young men, who will have to wear dinner jackets and bow ties. I fully intend to indulge my fetish for fit blokes in DJs from beyond the grave.

* There should be some proper debauchery afterwards.
(grandmasterfluffles Come to my Armageddon party on, Fri 12 May 2006, 10:11, Reply)

I've been to four funerals
Two were for people who had had fair innings, and two were for people who should have had longer.

My only advice to those who haven't attended one yet would be make sure to get properly drunk afterwards. It helps. And if an over-bearing Christian drink-free zealot tries to admonish you for getting drunk in front of God, why not let your atheist mate inform them:

"Can't you just cock-off? Alcoholism is a cult dating back four times as long as your Jesus group."
(Garnett, Fri 12 May 2006, 9:59, Reply)

mrs downhill wants to become a diamond
My dearly beloved wants her corpse to be crushed, heated and god know what else, until she becomes a diamond. I'm not sure if she's read this idea somewhere or dreamed it, but if there's anybody out there with a strong press and a couple of hours to spare, get in touch.
(downhill without brakes . It was the worst day of my life, Fri 12 May 2006, 9:57, Reply)

A graveyard, a shovel.... what more do you need.
My grandfather's funeral had been in May, but because the family wanted a good piece of Devon granite to mark where the ashes had been buried, we reconvened in November to lay the stone.

After the original internment of the small wooden box containing the ashes, the location had been marked with a small plaque. When we finally got the stone, we went back to the plaque, and I was given the job of removing the top couple of inches of turf so that the stone could be inset.

Not feeling entirely comfortable about digging in a graveyard, I set about my task with a real unease. A feeling that got worse when the spade hit something buried not very deeply beneath the surface.

It seems that the ash caskets have quite a shallow burial - I presume because they don't hold the same health hazard as a decaying corpse. So the top of the box was very close to the surface, and I began freaking out because I was digging up my Grandfather's ashes.

...except that when I peeled back the turf, there was a brass plaque on top of the box informing me that the contents belonged to someone called Doreen. Sometime between May and November my Grandfather's marker had been moved, and I ended up digging up somebody else's ashes.

In the end, I have no idea if the stone we laid is anywhere near the actual ashes, and to honest, I didn't care much.
(McDingo, Fri 12 May 2006, 9:52, Reply)

Thank-god
I didn't attend my nan's funeral many years ago. Her best friend had a heart attack and died at the grave side.

The last wake I found myself at was for someone I didn't know...was just meeting my friend there. (long story). It started out interesting as it all turned into a massive slanging match between them all, which was embarrasing and interesting all at the same time n after all the 'oldies' had got out of the way, we all retreated to the hotel room with the new guests called Charlie and MaryJane. That became even more interesting. In the room was my friend and her ex (father of her child) with the new girlfriend. The conversation, fueled by the new guest Charlie, turned to why the father of the child and my friend split up. Eek. More embarrasement and amusement from me.

My friend later told me that the couple were rowing until dawn.
(Oops....did I say that out loud cos I really bloody want to., Fri 12 May 2006, 9:51, Reply)

My Gran's funeral was quite a sombre affair
until the wake afterwards, when whilst having a private conversation with a cousin,didn't notice the rest of the room had gone quiet listening to me tell him how I'd accidentally supplied my Mum & Dad with hash cakes for a day trip to France they went on with some friends.

My aunty loves Daniel O'Donnell music (?!?!) but my Uncle thought he was a slimy irish git, he couldn't stand his music and always took the piss when she listened to it. When my uncle died, she played a "best of" cd at his funeral so she could get the last laugh. We all did.
( ashurek, Fri 12 May 2006, 9:51, Reply)

Jehova's Witnesses funeral weiredness
My mum's uncle passed on earlier this year, and funeral arrangements were handled by his son, a Jehovah's Witness.
Now, Uncle Eddie was yer actual salt of the earth cockney geezer. He would have wanted a good old east-end knees up somewhere.
His son, and his beliefs, had other ideas.
Friends were asked not to attend, by letter. His own wife didn't go, and the only only people in attendance were he, his two sons, Eddie's sister (travelled form Hastings to London for the day), my Mum and my brother (travelled from Somerset for the day) and me.

We sat there for about 5 or 6 minutes while some twinkly music played; no one spoke. Then Eddie's son rose to his feet, said 'thank you for coming' and that was that. he was off.

My family were, to put it mildly, thoroughly cheesed off. So we went to the pub and got slaughtered, toasting Eddie and spending the whole time how such a nice bloke could have spawned such a selfish git of a son.
( Joe Scaramanga with a G-double-O-D vibration, Fri 12 May 2006, 9:01, Reply)

Sod the funeral, on with the wake..
My estranged father was a fairly evil bastard and died of lung cancer at the end of last year. Rather than being hypocritical and attending his funeral, I took the day of work, took my mother to the pub in her village and we both got royally pissed on extremely expensive champagne. It was ace, and makes me think that at least he gave me some fond memories in the end.
(mookroolz, Fri 12 May 2006, 8:44, Reply)

After my Nana's funeral,
the 'elders' went off into another room for a private discussion. We lesser ones sat outside in anticipation as it seemed that there might be some ad hoc redistribution of effects.

When they emerged, I was summoned first,
to everyone's surprise as I was not exactly Nana's favourite.

I was then presented with a wooden stool, originally stolen by my grandparents from the chapel where they were caretakers.

Great sentimental value - I fell off it and broke my arm in May 1964.

Gee, thanks, Nana.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Fri 12 May 2006, 8:21, Reply)

I intend to be cremated

because I have an irrational fear of being buried alive.

How being burnt alive would be better I don't know, but that's phobias for you.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Fri 12 May 2006, 8:09, Reply)